Hellbent
by sweetishfish
Summary: Dean has been taken to Hell and this time it is up to Sam to come to his rescue.  This story is dedicated to all those who were waiting for Sam to pull this awesome rescue mission in Season 4. Will hopefully contain Awesome!Sam and Hurt!Dean
1. Chapter 1

The people of Pontiac, Illinois wondered about him. They weren't nosy, so they didn't ask. Pontiac was a small place, mostly rural, and didn't get a whole lot of visitors. So everyone noticed when, a few weeks back, a young stranger in a flashy black car pulled into town. And stayed. He stayed in a cheap motel and ate at the local diners. He was a nice guy, always tipped the waitresses and didn't make a total wreck of his motel room. But he was somber, never making light conversation or really any conversation at all. He almost always had a pile of books or his laptop. Was he a student? He was a little over the average college age, but it was certainly possible. He didn't seem to have a job or family here, and no one knew where he came from.

He had peculiar habits, too. Everyday he drove out of town, but he never went far; his menace of a vehicle could be seen parked along the stretch of road leading out of town. This was strange in itself, because there was nothing there but small woods and empty old fields. Yet the car would sit there for hours on end, until finally the man would emerge from the woods, carrying an armful books and the laptop.

Still, they didn't ask any questions. The stranger let the people of Pontiac let be, and so they in turn let the stranger let be.

Sam sat in the middle of a small, treed grove. It was quiet, left undisturbed by most of civilization. That was one of the reasons Sam had chosen it. It was actually on the outskirts of the town, surrounded mostly by unused fields and more woods, although there was a gas station about a mile down the road. Sam did his research here most days. Today was no exception. Books spilled over his lap, computer to one side, and a small black notebook atop a pile of old newspaper clippings and internet printouts.

He had been researching for weeks. Everything seemed futile, but there was no way in Hell he was giving up.

"God, Dean, could you have picked a more thorough way to die?" he asked in frustration. Perhaps it was rhetorical, but his question seemed to be directed to a small, wooden cross planted in the ground a few feet over. Sam exhaled, a small release of pent-up exhaustion and grief. Sam had tried everything, _everything_, to bring Dean back. First he had summoned a reaper; well, no, _first_ he had ditched Bobby who would automatically say no to any of Sam's ideas. Bobby was a close friend of theirs, and a sort of surrogate uncle. Bobby cared deeply for both the boys, which is why it broke his heart when they made crazy deals and sacrificed themselves for each other. Bobby knew no good could possibly come from these sorts of dealings. Which is why Sam ditched him. Ditched Bobby without a word as to where he was going and what he was going to do next.

Next he had tried summoning a reaper. It had worked, too. Tessa, as she had introduced herself, was a reaper and an old acquaintance of Dean's. Sam had never met a reaper, and had been imagining someone a little more frightening then the pretty, petite young woman that stood before him. She had a calming influence, too, and had listened patiently to Sam's request. In the end, however, there was nothing she could do.

"Sam," she had said, "Look, even if I _wanted_ to bring him back from the dead, I can't. A reaper is a being that takes the dead on to their next road, whatever it may be. Dean is on his next road, and I can't reach him there. I hate to tell you this, Sam, but Dean is gone." Her face had softened for a moment, and she spoke again. "There is a natural order to everything we do, Sam, and when someone dies, it's not because the reaper had it out for them. It's because it's their time."

Sam had swallowed, face hard. "There was _nothing_ natural about Dean's death. He was chased down by hellhounds, sent out by a demon who _did_ have it out for him. That's not exactly 'natural order'," Sam had said angrily.

Tessa's gaze had been firm and her tone cool. "Remember who made the deal, Sam. Dean made his decision; he _knew_ the day would one day come. And that was natural, too. You guys hunt demons, demons come after you, you die, your brother makes a deal for your life, and then the bargain comes to an end. Dean's life is claimed." She paused, then continued, "And that's all natural, because throughout it all, you still were making your own decisions, even knowing the consequences. If Dean could come back, and this whole little story were to play itself out again, don't you think Dean would make the same decision all over again?"

Sam hadn't been able to answer, because he had known she was right. Sam knew his brother better than anybody, and Dean wouldn't hesitate to trade his life, or soul, for his brother's.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Tessa had said one more time, before turning away and walking into nothingness.

With her departure, it seemed all of Sam's hopes had crashed too. He felt like crying; during his entire conversation excitement and hope had bubbled just beneath the calm, collected surface he wore as a shield. When she left, Sam's shield began to crack, and he felt almost nauseous with disappointment and grief. And loneliness. Such loneliness. Sam was without friends, without family, and without any real course of action to be taken. Except for his few years at Stanford, Sam had always been under the guidance of his father or Dean. He had always had family, always had instruction. Now all he had was his dad's journal and a bitter taste in his mouth.

So reapers weren't an option. Sam was still convinced there was a way; firstly, because he couldn't afford to lose hope. Secondly, because he _did_ believe there was a way. Most people, when a loved one died, that was it for them. But Sam had seen so much, these past few years in particular, so many intricacies of the supernatural world, that he really believed there was a way to raise Dean from Hell. Even if it meant going down to the pit himself and carrying his brother out.

"Do you really mean that, Sammy?" a cool, female voice purred out. Sam's spine snapped straight with shock, and goosebumps crawled all over his flesh. He hadn't heard anyone approach, and in the woods there were no lights to flicker or electronics to malfunction to warn him of a demon's approach. Sam got to his feet instantly. A lovely young woman stood before him, dark curls falling almost to her waist and seductive full lips. Sam wasn't fooled for an instant.

"Demon," he spat. He wished he had been more careful, and at least brought some holy water with him. He cursed Bela silently for robbing them of the colt, the gun that could kill just about anything, supernatural or otherwise. It was unusual for Sam Winchester to be caught off his guard; in a hunter's line of work this could be a fatal mistake. This demon, however, had made no moves toward him…yet. "What do you want?" Sam growled out.

She raised a dark eyebrow and lifted her empty palms, hands spread wide to show she meant peace. A funny gesture for a demon, especially, since this motion was mostly shown to mean the lack of firearms. A demon doesn't need a weapon to kill.

"To talk, Sam. Just to talk."

Hey, everyone, thanks for reading my story. This is the first chapter, one of maybe 6 or 7? I haven't thought it all that out much, which is a bad sign. It will take me a long time to update, probably because my goal now is to finish a story before I start publishing it. Sounds like a plan, right? But before I continue writing, I'd like some reviews with criticism, criticism, criticism. Rip my story to pieces, please. Because how else will I get better as a writer? Let me know if you think I should continue. If you have any ideas, those are always welcome too. And someday, I'd like someone with more talent than me to write this story, because I can see it all laid out beautifully in my mind, but putting it on paper is always the challenge. Thanks again.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam closed the door of his motel room quietly, then wheeled to face the demon he had _let in_ to his own room. He still couldn't believe he was willing to even hear her out. But if this was about Dean…? He couldn't afford not to listen. He cut right to the chase. "So…what is it you want to talk about?"

The demon didn't answer for a moment, pacing around the room, surveying her surroundings. Sam supposed he couldn't blame her- a demon would hardly like to be inside a hunter's lair any more than a hunter in a demon's. Still, it had been her idea.

"_Let's go somewhere more comfortable, shall we? I can see you feel unsafe without your usual toys. And if you are too busy trying to gank me, you won't have any time to listen to me at all…" the demon purred out. Sam had certainly hesitated here, caught off guard again by the demon's suggestion and naturally suspicious. "What's the matter, Sammy? Don't trust me? Well, if you won't listen to me for your own sake, at least hear me out for your brother's." _

_That_ had stopped Sam cold. He had finally agreed, although he made her walk ahead of him. Anyways, they had ended up at the motel in one piece, the both of them, so _that_ had gone okay, at least.

The demon, satisfied there were no Devil's Traps under the rug (_or_ on the ceiling, _or_ on the wall) turned to face Sam. "Now then, Sam, let's get right to the heart of the matter. You want to save Dean. I can make it happen."

Sam's blood was pumping through his veins, positively throbbing with excitement, but he bit it back and demanded "Oh yeah? How? And what's in it for you? Dean is practically Hell's Most Wanted- what does a demon want to be letting him go for?"

"Oh, Sammy, I'm hurt. You don't think I want to save Dean out of the goodness of my heart? That pains me." She tapped her nails lightly over her chest and bit her lip, shaking her head slowly.

Sam let out a snort of impatience, but decided to humor her. "_No_, I _don't _think you're doing it 'out of the goodness of your heart' so why don't we cut the bullshit and you tell me what you _really_ want."

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Such fun to play with. I hate to end the game, but well…it seems I have no choice. I'm here to make a deal with you Sam."

"Bullshit," Sam shot out again. "I've been trying to make a deal for weeks, but nobody would bargain. I offered up everything I have- my soul included. Nobody would deal. And now, _now_ you're ready to trade?"

The demon laughed softly. "Oh, Sammy, but the stakes in _my _little game are so much higher- for both of us. It's a high risk game that I play, and me? I only play for keeps."

Sam was pissed. Why was she being so fucking cryptic? "What do you want?" he asked again, as levelheadedly as he could.

Her black eyes met his. "You, Sam Winchester. Oh, but not _just _you of course. You see, we already have Dean. But you see, you and Dean are like a set of rare jewels. One isn't worth nearly as much without the other."

"Forget it!" Sam spat. "As far as I can see, this isn't helping either of us. Why would I deal?"

"Patience, Sammy. Hear me out now." She smirked. "Here's the deal. I grant you passage into Hell, body and soul, and you get the chance to reclaim Dean. The rest of it, though, is all you. You want to make it out? You are going to have to make it happen. Sam, I am giving you the way into Hell to save your brother. But you are going to have to find the way out. If not, well…" she trailed off, smiling hungrily at Sam. "You're all mine."

Sam couldn't speak. Blood pounded in his ears and his frantically racing mind was trying to sort through all this information, to find the catch in the demon's deal. But there wasn't any catch, really. She had already told him what was at stake if he were to fail. It was a fair deal, to Sam's mind. More than fair, really, since even failure sounded better than living the rest of his life without Dean. He supposed one of the things at stake was, if he were to fail, there'd be no escape for Dean, not ever. There would be no one left on the other side to spend sleepless nights researching and long days gathering materials for summoning rituals. Still, it was a risk he had to take.

"Alright. Say I agree to this proposition of yours. You just drop me in the Pit, completely defenseless and empty-handed? I'd get torn apart, there's no way I even have a _chance_ that way."

The demon scowled for a minute. "You'd think you'd be a little more grateful, Sam. The deal I've offered is more than fair. But…" she smiled a little, and shrugged. "…since I'm such a generous spirit, I will give you until this evening to prepare your 'artillery'. I'll come at sundown for you, Sam, so I suggest you get yourself ready and maybe stop to admire that sunset. It may be your last."

The demon made to leave, but before she could slip out the door Sam asked her "Why are you doing this? I mean, why are you letting me take weapons and prepare myself and all?"

The demon rolled her eyes around in a very inhuman way and licked her lips. "Honestly, Sammy? Because it's fun. It's exciting." She gave a little shiver, causing dark waves of hair to slide over her face. "You are about to get yourself involved in the game of the century and it's all thanks to me."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam didn't waste any time. The moment the demon vanished from his doorstep Sam hurried to his duffel bag. The old black bag was crammed with books, journals, notes, sawed-off shotguns, canisters of salt, flare guns, knives, rifles, lighters, flasks of holy water (and whiskey!) and even a crossbow. Sam laid aside the EMF with a rueful grin. _That_ was one tool that would be of no use to him down there. He continued searching through the duffel, wishing for the Colt. Really, he thought, would any of this stuff do him any good down there? Holy water, maybe, since it seems to keep the demons at bay, but even if he brought a whole gallon of the stuff he doubted it would do more than make them sizzle a little. Despair crashed down upon him for a moment, and he let the crushing weight of it all force him down on to the motel's scratchy duvet. He lay on his back, looking up at the spotted ceiling and dim light fixture over his head. He wondered vaguely if he should call Bobby for his last goodbyes. There was no way he was coming out of this one. Not this time.

And yet…he had made it this far, right? He was still here, largely due to his older brother's sacrifice. How many times had he and Dean made it out of near-death situations? More often than he could count. It wasn't impossible that they wouldn't make it out of this one. They were Winchesters, godammit, made of sterner stuff. Sam got to his feet again. He glanced at the glowing red numbers on the motel's alarm clock. 1:34 pm. He had six hours until sundown, he roughly estimated. He glanced again over all the tools of the trade. At least down in hell he'd be able to kill demons freely. No fear of hurting the poor person the demon happened to be possessing.

Sam felt guilty for even thinking it, but he wished he had been able to develop his psychic powers more fully. They would've been a real asset to this mission. It was practically Dean's dying request that he stop using them, so since then he had given up using them and respected his brother's last wishes. Still, to Sam, it had always been hard to look at his powers as a bad thing. To Sam, they were practically a gift. But Dean had always disagreed with him on that point, and Sam had learned just to shut his mouth when the topic came up, if only to avoid a fight.

The rest of the day passed in a blink of an eye, except for the agonizingly long moments when all he could think about was Dean and how he missed his presence. It was moments like these when he was itching to go, and could barely keep himself from pacing a hole in the floor.

When the sun fell and dusk began to settle over the sleepy town of Pontiac, true to her word, the demon showed. Sam was ready.

"So…Sammy," the woman slowly waltzed up to him. "Ready to go?"

Sam nodded shortly, gripping his pack tight. "Alright then," the demon said with a smile, "Take my hand and don't be scared."

Sam gripped the demon's cold fingers and then there was a whirling sensation, and Sam couldn't see anything but red and felt heat, as if from a fire just licking his skin. He heard the growls of hounds in the distance.

'Hellhounds,' Sam thought vaguely before he lost all memory of what had just taken place.

Okay, this chapter is a lot shorter than the others I've been posting. I don't plan on writing them that short, but I just couldn't think what else fit into this chapter. Please continue to support my story with reviews and criticism. Lord knows I need it! I really think of this entire online community as support for aspiring writers, and I don't always feel we give each other the criticism we deserve. I know I sometimes don't give the reviews I should to others So please give me some feedback and continue to support my fic. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Sam was standing in a hallway. A nice one, too, the kind with polished floors and gleaming walls. Doors lined either side of the hall, the wooden ones with the little panes of glass you could look into. Sam blinked. He tried hard to remember. How did he get here? And where _was_ he, exactly? The hall was quiet, and at the end he could see a set of double doors, with sunlight pouring in from the outdoors. Figuring this was as good a place to start as any, he headed toward them. The whole scene, to Sam, felt familiar. He _knew_ where he was, he just couldn't quite place it.

"Hey, Sam, there you are! Where have you been, man? Jessica's been looking for you everywhere!" A guy about Sam's age approached him and threw his arms around Sam's shoulder. "Don't tell me you were in there discussing another project with Professor Rawlins again. Dude, if anyone needs the extra credit, it's me," he laughed. Sam blinked at him confusedly. The other boy blinked at him in concern. "Hey, you okay, man? You look kinda…I don't know, out of it…"

"Ah, no…I mean, yeah, I'm okay," he stammered out. "I just, you know, uh…got lost in a book, didn't realize it was getting to be so late, uh, Steve." The guy's name had just come readily to his tongue, shocking Sam a little.

The boy laughed again. "Yeah, that doesn't sound like you _at all_. Anyways, come on, Jessica wants your opinion on what she should wear to the Halloween party."

Sam groaned and Steve chuckled. "Hey, I don't know man. I know you're not particularly excited about the whole thing, but dude, take advantage of this! You could get Jessica to dress up as like, a really hot nurse or something."

"Uh-huh," Sam responded, already heading off to their apartment. Something felt weird. This was a totally normal day, right? What was going on? Why did something feel…not _right?_

Ten minutes later, Sam reached the apartment he shared with Jess. He wasn't sure why he felt so strange today, the campus, the people greeting him as he walked by, they were all familiar. Yet somehow it felt unreal, like it was someone else's life he was living, or memories of a life previously lived. Whatever it was, he could talk to Jess about it. She was really good at listening and understanding, especially considering his strange upbringing. Strange upbringing…that he couldn't seem to remember? Now Sam was really confused. He set the keys on the counter but for some reason decided not to part from his pack. He headed upstairs to look for his girlfriend.

"Jess…hey, Jess?" Sam pushed open the door to their room, slightly puzzled. Steve had said Jess was looking for him, it only made sense she'd be at the apartment. But the whole place had been empty. Sam briefly wondered if she was up in the bedroom, waiting to surprise him. But the room seemed empty. "Jess?" he again questioned the empty room.

He heard a soft dripping sound, and made a move to the bathroom to check if the faucet was left on. Before he reached it, however, he felt a drop of water land on his shoulder, then again on his hand. Glancing down, he saw it was a thick, red sticky substance. His heart caught in his throat and he looked up.

_Oh, god! Jess!_ Sam's mind wheeled and he staggered backwards, too startled to even yell. Jess was pinned to the ceiling, eyes dead and blood soaking through the front of her shirt. As Sam watched, a fire broke out, flames beginning around Jess and spreading like…well, like wildfire. Now Sam was screaming, instincts telling him to run but his body still trying to get to Jess. Heat crackled around him, and he realized he couldn't reach her. He ran for the door, eyes filling with tears from the smoke and trauma. Down the stairs, to the front door, yelling for help. He flung the door open to find Steve and a few other college buddies.

"Steve, Steve, you gotta help me. Jess, she's…" Sam broke off. "Whoa, whoa, calm down buddy," Steve said, laying a comforting arm on Sam's shoulder. "What now?"

Sam jerked his head towards the stairs, imagining the fire would speak for itself, but there were no flames and no sign that there ever were. "What?" he gasped. Now Sam was sure he was losing his mind. "I- I-…there was a fire, and Jess…Jess was dead."

"She was, wasn't she?" Steve's tone was cool, and Sam turned to him in surprise. Steve laughed, eyes strangely black. "Same way your pretty little mother died too, wasn't it? God, that's too ironic, isn't it, man? I mean, the only two women in your life going out in a fire in your own bedroom? That Azazel, he has class."

"W-what?" Sam gasped out. He had no idea what this guy was talking about; all he knew was his words made a hollow out of Sam's stomach.

"Sam," a girl's familiar voice spoke up behind him. Sam felt his insides turn to ice. "Sam, look at me. Turn around and look at the girl you murdered."

Sam turned slowly, recognizing the voice, but not daring to believe it. Jess stood behind him, in all of her complete, flawless beauty. "Sam," she said again. "Why'd you kill me?"

"I didn't…I swear, I didn't know…I…" She cut through his feeble excuses. "You left me, joined your brother on one of his obsessive hunts without looking back. Lied to me. And then the demons came for me, all because of _you._"

Sam was about to ask '_What_?' again, but stopped himself because the demon's voice rang with truth. It was coming back to him now. _Your brother. Demons. Hunts. _These things were a part of his life, and had been for most of his childhood. He had escaped them for a few short years and was able to meet perfectly, wonderfully ordinary Jess. Jess who knew nothing about demons or hunts, he realized. And he remembered what happened to her- he remembered Dean coming for him, and their hunt with the White Lady. And he remembered returning home to Jess that night. That awful night when Jess died a fiery death pinned to the ceiling of their own bedroom. More flashes of memories returned to him, giving him a painful headache that nearly brought him to his knees.

"What's wrong, Sam?" 'Jess' asked him, her face switching smoothly to one of concern. She brought her hand up to touch Sam's temple, but he jerked his head away from her. He remembered where he was now and what he was doing. He recognized 'Jess' for what she was: a demon. They all were.

"You're demons…all of you," he said, pulling out a knife from the inside of his coat with the rapid movement of a hunter on his prey.

Jess clapped a few times. "Great deductions, there, Sammy. Glad college is finally paying off." She laughed at the blade in his hand. "What, you gonna kill me with that? You gonna kill little Jessica?" She made a cute little pout. Sam was unaffected.

"You're not her," he said, "You're not even in her meat suit. And to answer your first question," he paused, running his hands over the side of the blade, "yes, yes I am."

She laughed again and before his eyes began to twist and mutate, in to what Sam was assuming her natural form. Black-eyed and hideous she sprang at him. Sam had the knife ready, and stabbed the demon in her stomach. She let out an unearthly screeching, and the knife hissed as it caught her flesh. Sam's eyes went cold, as he continued to tear the knife through her. "I put some holy water on it, thought it might give it an extra sting." He smirked in a most un-Sam like fashion.

The other demons rushed him, but Sam wasn't the son of a hunter and retired Marine for nothing. He withdrew the blade from the demon's stomach in a flash, drawing out a splash of blood and whirled to face the others. The battle was short and bloody, and when it was over, Sam was the only one left standing.

If the demons thought they could hurt him using Jess' death, they were wrong. It was true that he still had nightmares, and of course he still missed her, but he had seen and lost too much to let the guilt and grief overpower him anymore.

I'm not sure how much I like this chapter, it ended up being quite different than I imagined, but I guess that's a story for you. They tend to write themselves. In one of the next few chapters, I hope to post Dean's point-of-view. I already have one written, it was actually the first chapter I wrote for this story, but now I need to figure out where to put it to make it work.

Thank you so much for all your reviews and criticisms, they really help. You guys are great. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Sam, unsure of what to do or where to go, continued to wander Stanford's campus. His blood was up now, he remembered his mission and he was ready to fight. More than ready to find Dean, whose presence he was missing more than ever. The demons he had just faced had gone down fairly easy, although one had given Sam a nasty scratch along the side of his arm. (Sam had checked it, it was oozing pus lightly, probably a minor demon poison, but what could he do about that now?) If Dean were there he would be making a fuss of it, of course, in typical big-brother fashion. Dean. Sam stomach twisted at the thought of him in demons' hands. His brother was at some sadistic bastard's mercy and he was wandering Stanford campus reliving his apple pie days? Now that was Hell.

All the grounds were now quiet and desolate. Sam gritted his teeth in frustration. "Come on," he shouted, calling out to nobody, "the game's up. I know this isn't Stanford, this is Hell, you aren't fooling anyone." As he spoke, the campus, trees, sidewalks and little shops, they all suddenly gave way to a forest, cold and black with trees whose branches scraped at the sky. The sky above turned a smoky red, with flashes of lightning jutting across it.

Sam swallowed, hard. It was still eerily quiet. Even Sam's footfalls didn't rustle the leaves he trod upon. He continued through the woods, but no end was in sight.

_Sam._ He heard a voice in his head. _Sam. Sammy._ The voice was a whisper in his ears now. He swung his head from side to side, but no one was there. "Sam…" the trees rustled, a wind was blowing through them now. Sam unconsciously picked up his speed, still heading toward an unknown destination. "Sam. Sammy. Sam, please." The trees echoed. Sam felt a shiver go down his spine. "Who's there?" he shouted, knowing it was useless. "Sam," the trees responded, louder this time. "_Sam."_

Sam started running, as the calls became screams. Screams he recognized. "SAAAAM! SAAAM! Somebody help me! SAAAAM!"

"Dean!" He shouted. "Oh, god, Dean!" The scream reverberated in the air, and Sam couldn't pick up any direction from them. Sam ran blindly, crashing through the undergrowth, desperate to get to Dean.

Sam didn't know how long he ran, nor when he finally stopped. His heart was exploding inside him, his legs ached, and he was no closer to reaching Dean. He was trapped, trapped in this goddamn forest of endless dark trees. The demons could take him now, goddamit, because clearly he couldn't save Dean. Hell, he couldn't even save himself. Sam wondered if he hadn't just walked straight into Hell willingly on a fool's errand. But Sam also knew he would never be able to live with himself if he had done nothing. And he didn't think he could live without Dean period.

Sam slowly got to his feet, unaware of ever falling from them. He had to continue, but where could he go. This forest was endless. Or maybe it only seemed so, Sam reasoned. After all, the demon that had taken Jessica's form? That was only an illusion. She had reverted to her true form as soon as Sam recognized her for what she was. Stanford campus, too, had faded away when Sam remembered where he really was. This forest was probably just another illusion, meant to mislead and waylay Sam from his mission. Even as Sam had these thoughts the forest around him changed subtly. The trees remained, dark and dense as they were, but at the end of lines of trees Sam could see a clearing. Sam steeled his nerves and drew in a long breath, then made his way to the forest's end.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean couldn't remember when he regained consciousness. Maybe he had never lost it. It seemed to him only that the hellhounds' teeth were gradually replaced by hooks and chains instead. Sam was gone, and Dean's new surroundings were hot and full of fiery red toxic skies and thunder that never waned. Screams echoed in the vast empty space Dean was suspended over, and it took him awhile to recognize himself as their owner.

"SAAAM!"

Time in hell was nothing like time on Earth. Minutes dragged. Seconds crawled. Neither was there any of the order or natural laws that governed all things earthly. The chains holding him up stretched for infinity without any support. Dean kept bleeding and bleeding, but he never bled out. All of him was exhausted, but he never went to sleep. He wasn't sure if days were passing him, or nights. It all looked the same, and there was never any relief from the agony or loneliness he felt at all hours.

He wasn't sure when Alastair first came to him. A demon in his true form is dreadfully ugly, and Alastair was certainly no exception. He dragged Dean down, letting the hooks tear right through the skin, leaving jagged pieces of flesh to flap over the open wounds. Dean could see his own ribs, but was helpless to do anything but curl in on himself. Alistair strapped him down and began to cut away. The first few days (or was it weeks? Months?) he simply sliced and stabbed and twisted. He didn't say a word, and only paused to relish Dean's screams and revel in his own handiwork. With each slice Dean's screams became increasingly bestial, and he twisted and snarled like a feral animal caught in a trap. The sound made Alastair smile. He considered himself somewhat of an artist, and took real pride and pleasure in his work. Day after day, he carefully peeled away Dean's humanity, patiently making his way to the hunter's core, his most vulnerable spot.

Alastair left him, for quite some time. Dean's wretched moans gradually subsided to quiet sobs, but it was the first time Dean had been left in even a semblance of peace since the hellhounds had yanked his soul down to the pit. The relief was blessed and for a while Dean let himself think of nothing at all. Images crept into his mind, however, memories of his death and also of people. Faces and names he could no longer remember, but he remembered a child, a young woman with yellow hair and black eyes, and a man, staring at him with an expression Dean couldn't fathom. Mouthing a name. His own? Dean couldn't remember. He gently pawed through his memories again. More faces, more people, more names, but always that man. 'Sam,' Dean remembered, 'that's Sam.' And the name that was on Sam's tongue was his own, he was sure of it. "Dean," he said aloud, his voice cracked and thirsty. He nearly smiled, liking the sound of his own name as a spoken word. He wished Sam were there to speak it. His smile faded as the rest of the memories slowly trickled back. "Oh hell," he breathed. _What have they done to me? What have I become?_

When Alastair returned, he noted the change in Dean almost immediately.

"Well, well, well Dean, I see you have recovered sufficiently. I don't believe I have properly introduced myself to you, since when we first met you were, ah, a bit under the weather, shall we say?" A lopsided grin spread across the demon's face. "Alastair, White-Eyed Demon and top-class torturer. It's a real pleasure to meet _you,_ Dean Winchester."

"Yeah, real pleasure all right," Dean rasped out. "Nice to know that I am working with a real professional."

Alastair smiled and leaned forward, practically nose to nose with Dean. His acid breath puffed against Dean's cheeks as he whispered "Oh, you have no idea yet. The things I've dreamt up for you. I have ideas that haven't even entered your wildest nightmares. Oh, I can't wait to hear your scream."  
>Dean felt an involuntary shudder run through him, but he looked the demon straight in his ghostly white eyes and said "Well, you had better wow me. This is my first time, and I have high expectations. Wouldn't want me leaving you for another demon bastard that can really give me what I want."<p>

Alastair chuckled. Then, without warning, white-hot pain seared through Dean. He looked down to find the source, and saw the crude handle of a knife protruding through his chest.

"R-really?" Dean spat blood. "That's how you b-begin it? No foreplay?"

Alastair leaned forward again. "Oh, Dean, this _is_ foreplay." He gripped the knife's handle firmly and slowly, so so slowly, began to twist. Dean couldn't hold back a cry of agony. Alastair relished in the sound even as he withdrew the knife in a long steady pull. Blood spurted from Dean's chest.

"So, Dean, now that I have introduced myself, let's get to know you. _Inside and out,"_ he leered. "Do you have something to, mmmhmm, share with the class today? Five facts about yourself."

Dean could barely focus on Alastair's words, but he spat a mouthful of blood onto the demon's face before saying, "Bite me, you sonovabitch".

The demon tsked. "Now Dean, is that sort of language really necessary? But never mind, if you don't feel like sharing there are already a few things I know about you. You're the oldest brat of John Winchester. You dragged your baby brother out of his only chance of a normal life when he was just 22, and proceeded to kill your own daddy a year later. You once stole the life of another man just so that yours could be prolonged. You say you are out to save people, but for every demon you kill, there is a human meat sack that doesn't make it. Hmmm, is that 5 facts yet? It seems we need one more."

Alastair ran the knife gently over Dean's cheekbone, drawing thin lines of blood.

"I didn't…_kill_…my dad…" Dean gasped out, as he felt yet another knife twist, this time in his left shoulder.

"Oh, didn't you? You were dying, Dean. Why? Because you were unable to stop the demon from possessing your dad. Because you let it kill you. And then your daddy paid the ultimate price. You walked free, and your daddy went to hell for it." Alistair withdrew the knife, twisting it the entire time. He licked the blood off the dripping metal slowly, tongue curling around the steel like a child's tongue on a batter-soaked spatula. He stabbed Dean again, in the gut, and this time both Dean and the knife hissed. He felt a whole new kind of burning.

"Demon's spit, Dean. It's acidic, toxic to humans."

Dean couldn't respond, couldn't think, could only let himself be consumed by this pain. He leaned forward as far as he could and heaved. It looked like he was spewing his inwards. Bile and blood flecked his face, and his whole body shuddered and struggled to contain the rest of its contents, but Dean's body lurched and he heaved again. Alastair's knife, still caught in his gut, penetrated deeper. Sweat and tears poured down Dean's face. He felt feverish and prayed for unconsciousness, but God didn't hear prayers from Downstairs, it seemed.

Alastair grinned widely and held up the knife. "Oh, Dean, this is only the beginning. And I have all of eternity to play with you…shall we continue?"

* * *

><p>Whee! I finally figured out how people put those separating lines into their stories, haha. Thanks for sticking with me. This chapter is a little bit more gruesome, but I figured you were ready for some Dean time. Thanks, as always, for your reviews and for keeping up with me!<p> 


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